Title: Seasons Turn
Author: Lei Mi Potter ()
Source work: Mistletoe by Karabou
Rating: Pg-13
Summary: When Harry gets mad at Ron and Hermione and runs out to the lake to collect his thoughts, what memories could a simple mistletoe conjure up?
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes:: My first *real* H/D. And it�s not NC-17! Somebody give me a cookie. :o) A bit angsty at the beginning, but I hope you all enjoy it. Cheers!
Leaves crunched beneath his feet as if they had been waiting their entire existence just to make that one great, impressive sound for the one who stepped atop them. With no care for what sight lay around him, let alone what miniscule sounds a stupid leaf made, Harry Potter trudged gloomily around the Hogwarts lake, lost in thought and irrevocable anger.
There was really no reason for him to be hurt by his friends to the point of making a great scene in the common room, complete with a grandiose-exit-of-a-lifetime, but Harry could not take their sympathetic nods and gentle hand brushes on his shoulders any longer. They didn�t know what this felt like. They didn�t know how being chased your entire life by something you couldn�t control grated on the conscience. And they couldn�t possibly know how it felt to be the center of attention, yet so utterly alone that it hurt to breathe.
Maybe all these feelings were because of Sirius. Harry sighed and slowed his pace a bit, closing his cloak a bit tighter around himself to block out the brisk and biting December air. Sirius had been the closest thing Harry had ever come to a real family member. Blood had nothing to do with it. Sirius was there for Harry, unlike anyone he could ever remember, short of Ron and Hermione. But they couldn�t understand this pain. They didn�t see their only shot at love thrown down behind a black curtain like it was nothing. Nothing. Harry spat at the air. Sirius could never be �nothing� even if he tried. He was there for Harry�someone to listen, someone to give advice. But that was no more, and Harry had unconsciously made the decision in that very instant of loss to give up on ever caring for anyone, ever again.
Harry stopped dead in his midnight trek around the lake to stare at some unimportant spot in the distance. After another minute of deep consideration, his hand roamed with a certain hesitation on the interior of his cloak and stopped at the pocket of his jeans, where he gave something there a brush of his hand. Without another discouraging thought, Harry dug his left hand down and pulled out the object he had been thinking about with such determination and veiled depression for as far back as he could remember since his fifth year at Hogwarts.
The old bit of mistletoe gave a ginger crunch as Harry ran his fingers along its once-vivid green leaves. The berries had all but molded and fallen off, but Harry did his very best to keep all parts of this sentimental object intact. This, after all, was the thing that had prompted his first kiss. His first feeling that the butterflies would stop the incessant beating of their wings, if only he had the guile to do something about it. His first feeling of absolute trust and *want* to be with someone more than just a friend. And, most importantly, the very first feeling in his life that he could be something different than what everyone else had told him from the beginning.
When Harry had kissed Cho Chang, he felt all the walls of responsibility and hero stigmas crumble down to the very core of his existence. But something had felt.. wrong. Something was definitely wrong about the whole thing. Harry stared at the mistletoe that lay in his hand.
Had the whole thing been a mistake? Surely not. Even though the entire relationship (if you could even call it that) had been a complete and utter failure, Harry still sought out that first feeling of walls crumbling down with each and every day from then on. But he couldn�t feel anything. Not with Cho. Not even with Ron or Hermione. Harry was at a loss.
And after Sirius had gone, Harry couldn�t feel anything. He was numb. His soul tingled with a maddening and irrepressible sense of hopelessness. Harry�s mind shot back to the countless times in the Gryffindor common room he had stuck his hands into the fire, just to feel. Feel something. Feel anything. But after Madam Pomfrey had applied the orange paste to him for the sixth time going, she had an order sent in to Dumbledore that all fireplaces accessible to Harry be placed under an enchantment so that he would be unable to harm himself again.
Harry kicked at a stray stick on the ground. Since the fire incident, he had secluded himself to his four-poster and read �Flying With the Canons� over and over again, in hopes of consoling his mind from all things Harry Potter. He didn�t want to be himself anymore. He wanted to be a no-name wizard boy who came to Hogwarts and wasn�t looked at like he was a freak. He wanted to be Zacharias Smith. He wanted to be Roger Davies. Hell, he�d even be Draco Malfoy. As long as he wasn�t Harry. Harry fucking Potter.
This memory brought Harry back to why he was roaming around the lake at this hour in the first place. He fingered his aging mistletoe again in putrid thought.
Hermione had brought him a cup of steaming Honeydukes hot chocolate while he sat by the fire, pushing against his left pocket in deep analysis of his situation. Harry had taken the mug and thrown it immediately to the floor before her feet. The chocolate had whizzed up and scalded Hermione�s shins, and she yelled out in pain, taking out her wand immediately to soothe the damage. Harry had simply turned his attention back to the fire, not even budging from his spot to help.
Ron was in an outraged fury, yelling, screaming accusations of mental indecency and emotional shortcomings. Harry was not one to argue about this, and he continued to glare at the fireplace. That was when Ron hit him.
Square in the jaw.
Everyone in the common room had stopped their usual nighttime studying and activities to gaze at the confrontation blooming before them. Harry Potter�s best friend in the entire world had just socked him with a punch unlike any Ron had ever thrown before. The air turned stale, and time seemed to slow. Harry rose from his armchair with daunting force, and stared at Ron�s flushed face and neck before doing what no one thought Harry would ever do to anyone.
He spit in his face.
Ron wiped his cheek, seemed to be in thought for a moment, and then lunged at him. But Harry was quicker with his wand, performing a lightning fast Petrificus Totalus! before anyone could breathe a single gasp. Hermione stared on in horror as Harry lingered atop Ron, standing with a posture that one might consider very sinister�about to strike even. But Harry did nothing of the sort. He knew how to hurt Ron far worse than physical violence could ever hope to achieve. He proceeded to metaphorically hit Ron Weasley where pain thrived.
Harry grabbed the back of Hermione�s neck with one arm while still staring into Ron�s eyes, pulled her roughly right in front of him, and snogged the hell out of her. He never broke eye contact with Ron once.
Hermione�s choked cries of resistance and fervent pushing from Harry�s maniacal form were enough for other Gryffindors to step in and break the entire thing apart, Seamus performing a Finite Incantatem on Ron in the process. Harry backed away with a devious grin on his face while Ron bolted to his feet and tried to grab at Harry�s neck. Dean and Neville had to restrain him while Harry simply stared at Ron with that goddamned grin.
He didn�t know exactly why he kissed Hermione; he knew it must have torn her apart inside. Harry had really only intended to hurt Ron, but succeeded in jeopardizing his long-standing friendship with both persons as a result. But for some inexorable, unexplained reason.. he really didn�t care.
Harry broke the silence and went into a tirade about everything and nothing all at once. Deep-seeded explanations about scars, godfathers and Voldemorts poured out from his mouth in an angry, unstoppable rainbow of vocabulary and fear. Hurt. There, he had said it.
But something was still missing, and when the words failed him, and Harry was left in a sputtering wave of a tangent about never wanting to look at himself in the mirror again, he threw his wand down and dove up to his room to retrieve his cloak and get the hell out of there. He had been outside for almost three and half hours now�not crying, not yelling. Just thinking. Thinking.
Why did he really carry this mistletoe around with him anyway? Harry thought about sticking his hands in the fire again, but that feeling didn�t pinpoint the real reason of the mistletoe weight nearly enough. Something was definitely amiss.
He plopped his body down, a great crunch of leaves beneath him, as he stared down at the giant squid moving about below the cold and murky ice chunks floating atop the blackened water. At that very moment, an idea began to creep into the back of Harry�s mind, spreading with alarming speed to the front. For no reason other than complete instinct, Harry turned his head to the right.
There was no one there.
No one there.
And then it hit him like a herd of chimeras-- there was no one there. Harry felt his soul drop and his mind race at the speed of a freight train. The feeling Harry was seeking for so long was not that of being someone else�it was the feeling of having someone else.
Cho had been good enough to console this ever-growing need in Harry for about two minutes, but she lacked something that Harry just realized he could never even think about living without: drive. A passion, a cause she would die for. All Cho had cared about was having someone to soothe her inner demons about Cedric�s death. But this was not what Harry wanted to do�he had done it for far too long. Harry wanted someone by his side to hold his hand, stare danger in the face, and then fall into the depths of understanding and guide his soul to unyielding ardor. The flame of physical fire could not solve Harry�s problems; it was the fire within he sought out from the beginning. The fire that would bring him to merciful closure from this world. The fire that could hold him throughout the night and grip his very being with one hand, blindfolded. A fire that made him heat up. His eyes widened.
And then a rustle of leaves approached Harry, followed by a low drawl of, �Out a bit late, Potty.�
Harry jerked his head around and gripped his mistletoe just a bit tighter. �Draco,� his mind sighed. Harry stared at the young man before him in awe of everything he had been overlooking, ignoring, for the past six years of his life. A blush crept up Harry�s neck to his cheeks as realization set in, and his chest suddenly flushed with heated need.
Draco simply stared back with a cold glint in his sapphire eyes. Potter had obviously truly lost it.
�I think this entitles Gryffindor to a stunning fifty point deduction. Fantastic job, Potter. Successfully canceling out that mudblood�s entire week of meticulous answers in one fell swoop. I congratulate your ignorance.�
Harry stared.
�Are you going to say something, or do I have to report this childish silent treatment and refusal to remove your bony, bastard body from the grounds to Professor Snape as well?� Draco pointed snottily at his gleaming prefect badge and then pulled his designer cloak and house scarf tightly around himself as a breeze flew by with relentless chill.
Harry simply glared back. �You�re cold.�
�Oh great form, scar head. Of course I�m cold, you imbecile. It�s ghastly out here. You know the season of winter, correct? Tends to be a bit.. what was your word? Oh yes, cold.�
The corner of Harry�s mouth crept up in what could only be described as a smirk. �I didn�t mean on the outside. I meant your attitude towards me.�
�This is hardly the time to be discussing our feelings, Potty.�
�Oh shut it, Malfoy. You know what I�m talking about. Let�s just get it in the open now, shall we? Here we go.�
Draco stared at Harry in complete horror, his heart stilling and his mouth going insasnely dry. Surely Harry hadn�t figured everything out.. he.. he couldn�t have.
Harry paused to grin at Draco�s sudden expression of sullen regret for coming outside at this exact moment. He continued.
�From day one, Malfoy. Day one! You have been giving me a hard time. I didn�t accept your friendship, blah blah blah. But you know what? Who�d want to be friends with a snobby little brat who thinks he�s better than you? You really gave me a hard decision there.�
Malfoy sputtered indignantly, but Harry simply held up a chapped, reddened hand to stop him. �Oh, I�m not quite done yet,� Harry said icily. �So I�d advise you keep quiet.� And for some reason unknown to any god in the heavens, Draco dropped his gaze from Harry and closed his mouth, preparing for the gunshots that were about to hit him straight in the heart.
�Fabulous. Now, as I was saying, you never let up, do you Malfoy? And for the longest time.. up until ten minutes ago actually, I thought it was because you hated me. But no, that�s not the reason.. is it, Draco?� Harry let the name hang in the frozen air.
Draco could only muster up enough energy to shake his head, more slowly and reluctantly than he had ever dared to do anything in his entire luxurious life. He didn�t dare look at Harry now.
�It took me a while to figure out, yes.� Harry coughed from the cold. �And I�m sure you have some little quip about Gryffindor intelligence to add to that explanation, but I assure you I could rather do without it. The fights, Draco. It�s ridiculous. All an attempt to gain my attention, masked by the face of hatred. I wondered why you would go out of your way to make my life hold such torture in it, and I�ve only just now realized your Slytherin drive for jealous revenge. You never hated me. Quite the contrary.� Here, Harry smirked.
�Oh, you could deny it to your thuggish friends all you liked, but you could never deny it to yourself, could you? You think about me all the time, hatred or not. �How can I get Potter to react? How can I get Potter to notice how much I cannot stand him?� Well guess what, Draco. I�ve finally noticed. But not because of something you did. Oh no. It�s because of something you didn�t.� Harry paused in thought. �So, any objections with what I�m about to put out in the open, Malfoy? Because I�d really like to hear anything you have to say in advance. Things are definitely about to change with us.�
Draco tilted his head up with all the motivation left in him, took one look at Harry�s fiery gaze, and bit out with somewhat of a choke in his voice, �Say it.�
�You love me.�
It hung in the air like a like an eternal Wingardium Leviosa spell on a heavy boulder. And neither Draco nor Harry could dare to deny or laugh at it. They very simply stared at one another with looks of feigned indifference on their faces. Draco, however, was the one to break this particular span of thickened silence with a subdued murmur of truth.
�I know.�
His eyes held Harry�s for a few more seconds before flickering to the leaf-filled ground. Draco simply couldn�t take this anymore. Malfoys didn�t have to put up with this kind of embarrassment. It was not going to be like this! And with that last thought, Draco slowly turned on his heel mechanically, striding with noble supremacy back to the castle, leaving Harry to stand alone in the bitter cold of his wake.
Harry�s gaze faltered as Malfoy�s pointed and elegant face, reflecting years of rejected care, suddenly changed into a cloaked back, moving quickly away from where he was standing. Harry had no idea what he was about to do, but he decided to do it anyway.
He took a short sprint to catch up to Malfoy and grabbed his hand with the one still grasping his prized mistletoe. It crunched to pieces as Draco squeezed his hand back into Harry�s, turning around in an attempt to squirm away. But Harry had more to say, Draco knew it. His body stilled as Harry�s breath lingered mere centimeters away from Draco�s lips.
�I wasn�t done,� Harry whispered.
�Oh?� Draco choked back. He looked down into their clasped hands (for some reason he had still not let go) to see what was crumbling up like old parchment there. He pried his hand open a bit, only to see two faded and hardened berries fall to the ground with a few pieces of browned leaf. �What�s this?� Draco couldn�t look at Harry as he said this, in fear of what he might do.
�Old memories. Mistletoe. Nothing important.� Harry was shocked at his own words. Was this mistletoe that unimportant? He had carried it around almost obsessively for going on a year now. Surely it wasn�t meaningless. But these thoughts were cut off as Draco replied with a laugh.
�You actually carry this around?� He smiled. Draco Malfoy.. smiled?! Something started to heat within Harry�s soul. �There�s nargles hiding about in these all the time, you know.�
Harry couldn�t help himself from chuckling, memories of Luna Lovegood running through his head. �So I�ve been told.�
Draco took this moment to overcome his resistance and pull his eyes up to Harry�s. What he saw there was nothing he had ever seen in those green depths ever before. What he saw was.. trust.
The old mistletoe had all but fallen apart to the ground and only small bits of crunching leaf remained within their hands. Draco sighed and looked down again.
�What�s wrong?� Harry croaked out, forgetting to think. Draco couldn�t leave him now. Not like his parents. Not like Sirius. Not like everyone else eventually had over the last year. He just couldn�t, because Harry would end up falling apart like the mistletoe he carried like bricks on his shoulders for the past year. He would fall apart and never be pieced together again. No one could care for or understand him like Draco, and Harry inwardly kicked himself for taking so long to realize this. He wanted to die, and it would only take a few ill-conceived words from Draco to make it so.
�We can�t do this.�
Harry felt his heart shatter within his ribcage and tears threaten to pour down the corners of his eyes in salty myrrh. But just as Harry broke eye contact, Draco�s gloved hand smoothed up Harry�s frame and tilted the downward-cast chin up to face him. Draco grinned. �Not like this.�
And with his other hand, Draco drew out his wand.
Harry�s eyes flickered to it as Draco whispered something in ancient Latin. Harry pushed his eyes closed with great force and agile reflex, preparing for the worst. Was Malfoy honestly going to curse him? After all that had been said? Harry�s soul sunk to an even deeper place within his dying conscience.
When nothing happened after almost half a minute of squinting his eyes painfully shut, Harry pried them open to see what awful thing Draco had done to him. He didn�t feel any different at least. But Harry was entirely unprepared for what met his vision.
Everything had gone dark, nothing was left. All that remained before him was Draco, still holding his hand. And he still had that cunning grin on his face. �What�what�� Harry�s mouth had gone completely dry with fear of what was to come next. He blinked.
Draco then took their clasped hands and pulled them up to his chest in one unit. He pulled his hand out and warmed it against Harry�s, flattening the palm on a specific front area of his robes, under which was his heart. Harry looked at him, confused.
Draco whispered coolly onto Harry�s lips, �Look up, Harry.�
Harry gazed instantly skywards and saw a brilliant emerald and burgundy mistletoe hovering in midair, rich with light and gleaming heat. He was suddenly warm all over, a smile taking over the realm of his being. He looked back down to Draco, feeling the walls crashing down once more. �You didn�t let me finish,� he muttered in a hushed tone.
�Go on then,� Draco smiled, pulling Harry closer into his arms.
Harry hesitated at the touch, collecting his thoughts before continuing. �I said you loved me, but I forgot to mention one other important thing.� Harry smiled. He could never have been more sure of anything else in his entire life. �I can�t live without you. We�re worlds apart, but something still draws us together like magnets. No one wants us to be friends, but they don�t matter anymore. Not to me.� Harry gestured at the darkness Draco had conjured all around them before looking back at the face in front of him. �It�s just us.�
And as these last words were said, Draco leaned forward and took Harry�s lips into his own, heat rising in visible steam between them. The brilliant mistletoe shone with ultraviolet, blinding light as their embrace grew deeper. And when mouths opened freely for tongues to meet one another in fiery velvet, the real world came back into focus, and the mistletoe disappeared. But they never let go of each other. Never again.
And walking back to Hogwarts that very night, hand in hand, leaves crunched beneath two boys� pairs of feet as if those very leaves had been waiting their entire existence just to make that one great, impressive sound.